First Kiss
by Ella-whispers-what
Summary: A short, experimental one-shot of how I imagine their first kiss might have been... 'All this time, I think. All the many hours we've spent together, all our lives, all the secrets we've shared, and I've never known what you tasted like.'


**Haven't written anything for a few weeks so I wrote this short piece to get me back in the mood. I wanted to do something a bit different from my usual stuff, so the challenge I set myself was: Short (less than 1000 words). First person (usually I write in 3****rd****). Absolutely no dialogue. And no nudity ( I know – what was I thinking?!)**

**I haven't given up on my other story 'Burgled'…it's just been on hiatus…updates soon I promise.**

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**First Kiss**

First light. Pulling on shirt, boots, breeches. Strapping on gauntlets, knives, swords. Armoured against the cold. Padding softly through the sleeping house, down the stairs. He stands by the front door, waiting, and his eyes meet mine for a moment, then he looks away. He slips out the door, striding down the garden path, out into the dawn, and I follow. The crunch of hard frost beneath our boots. Our breath freezing in the air. The world quiet and still, waiting for the new day. By my side, he's silent. With a clear foot of almost-daylight between us, we run to get warmed up, making for the edge of the woods. We slip between the trees like shadows, leaving only footprints in the frost.

Inside the forest, the darkness of the night lingers still. The black outline of trees, their branches silvered with frost against the white sky. We both know it's no ordinary morning, no ordinary hunt. The thrill of the world spread out before us in the silent frozen land. The cold intoxicating, tingling on our skin. He is flexing his fingers, preparing for the bow, the unleashing of arrows.

Last night, all evening we sat by the fire in silence, aware that something between us had shifted, irrevocably, unbidden. His head on my thigh as he sat on the floor by my chair. My hand in his hair. No words came and we didn't look at each other.

In the clearing, he stops and turns. And I don't know whether he steps forward, or I do, or we both move, but the distance between us disappears. We're so close I can feel his warm breath against my face. His dark eyes are serious for once, and deep like the black water of frozen lakes. And there's nowhere else to go but towards him. When he reaches for my face, his leather fingertips brushing my cheek, it isn't the cold that makes me tremble. When I touch my lips to his, it's so soft, almost accidental. There's a heartbreaking moment when he doesn't respond and it feels as though my life hangs in the balance. Then the glide of his lips on mine, naked and shocking.

All this time, I think. All the many hours we've spent together, all our lives, all the secrets we've shared, and I've never known what you tasted like.

He traces the outline of my lips with his tongue and I think when did this happen? When did he become so gentle? It's devastating, like kissing a stranger.

And I didn't know, I didn't know it would be like this, that he'd make me so hungry for him, and I'm desperate, so I take his face in my hands and taste him again and again. His mouth is hot and wet and I lose myself in him. His tongue in my mouth, his hands in my hair.

He makes a sound in his throat that is neither sigh nor gasp nor moan, a sound I've never heard him make before, a sound I didn't know was inside him. I want to hear it again and again so I take his bottom lip between mine and draw him towards me, drawing out that sound again, that deep expression of desire.

When finally we part, all the world around us has turned to white. The snow falls softly as we stare at each other, trembling. I see my face mirrored in his – shocked, scared, wondering. In our passion, his hood has fallen back to his shoulders and I watch snowflakes alight on his hair, stark white against the darkness. I raise my hand and dislodge one into my palm. Our heads bent close together, we watch its unique form melt on my skin.

When I raise my eyes to meet his, he's shivering so I draw up his hood around his face again, and he smiles, and brings up his hand to touch mine. The intimacy of his fingertip on my wrist, tracing the pulsepoint, my life, my heartbeat. We stand there so long in the snow I can't feel my toes anymore. One last, long, lingering kiss then he twines his fingers round mine and draws me homewards, to firelight and blankets and candles.

Through falling snow, we trudge back home, empty-handed.


End file.
